Disclaimer – Jane Austen owns Mr. Darcy … ITV owns Amanda Price…I just own my random characters and Constance Darcy.

Authors Note: I decided to not do a separate sequel but just continue this one with a part II. This will be told in a different voice (narration instead of first person).

Lost in Austen Reborn Part II – Lost in a New World

Chapter 1 - Sweet Charity

Where so many hours have been spent in convincing myself that I am right, is there not some reason to fear I may be wrong? - Jane Austen

She stood in what seemed to be the closet of a man. Riding pants, cravat shirts, and jackets lined the walls. It was a man's world in here and she quite liked it. The scent of vanilla and musk tickled her nose and she smiled; inhaling the scent. She sifted through pants, shirts, and jackets until she found some that fit.

Constance Darcy was an impressionable young woman, sixteen years of age, and outwardly did not like her newfound curves that seemed to have been conjured up by some kind of dark magic overnight. Inwardly, she felt beautiful and that she was slowly becoming like her mother (an honor for her). She possessed dark brown; expressive eyes that were highlighted by slightly wavy reddish brown hair. It seemed the only thing that she had inherited from her father was his hair texture and his temper.

She wanted to hide her curves in looser clothing and what better, she thought, than her father's wardrobe. She changed into a pair of black pants, black riding boots, black jacket, and white shirt. The latter of which had a knot-like scarf sewn into it; this she particularly liked. She wished with all her might that she could have been a man. She had seen too much of society to want to be a woman. After all, they were treated like the lesser sex and Constance knew that she was anything but.

She moved a box back in an attempt to reach for her father's top hat collection and a book fell hard upon the ground. She stooped to pick it up, only to see that it was not just a book. It was a diary. Her fingers grazed the leather cover; wanting to open it but fearing what she might find. She bit her lower lip; debating with herself and opened the cover to look inside. The diary read the name: Amanda Price.

"Amanda Price?" Constance said aloud.

She crossed over the threshold of the closet and into her parents' bedroom. She sat upon her father's chair and crossed her legs upon the ottoman in front of her, heavy black boots and all. She opened the diary and began to read a passage.

April 2

Dear Diary,

Leigh has given me a diary to write everything.

I suppose I should say what I am so worried about. My mum just went back home. She found that she can go back and forth between portals. It is only Leigh and I that can only go back and forth once every year on April 1. For, as the old saying goes, "We are fools in love." She believes that it is easier for her to live in modern times and visit me here… I sometimes feel that coming here was a mistake. Should Leigh and I have stayed back?

Constance was broken away from her reading as soon as she heard a gruff voice ask, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like," she monotonously said, not moving her eyes from the diary.

"First of all," Darcy snatched the diary from her hands, "those are your mother's private thoughts."

"But, it says Amanda Price." Constance crinkled her brow, "Not Elizabeth Bennet."

He looked back at her, changing the subject, "Secondly, you are a lady of proper breeding."

"Blah, blah, blah," she sighed.

"You of all people," Darcy continued, "know that a lady does not wear men's fashion."

"Does it matter now?" She asked, "I am only sixteen."

"Girls are married at this age."

"Mother got married at twenty."

"That was different."

"How so?" Constance argued, "Just because I am sixteen does not mean anything."

Silence.

"Father," Constance looked up, "who is Amanda Price? And, who is Leigh?"

Darcy muttered softly, "Old friends."

"Then how come I have never met them," Constance raised an eyebrow.

"They live far away."

"Just like everyone else," Constance sighed, "I should think it a wonder how you have survived all these years in Pember-Hell."

"Mind your tongue," Darcy sternly spoke.

"Why?" Constance scoffed, "Why should I not say Hell? Priests get to say it, so, why can't I?"

"Do not use such language in my house."

"Fine," Constance sighed.

"You should change into something more suitable."

"Why?" Constance asked.

"There will be a ball tonight."

"Another ball?" Constance shoulders slumped, "Another party full of mindless chatter and gossip about me and why I cannot be proper and why I am not engaged yet or why I am not married yet. I hate it. Why-"

Constance made a face of disgust as Darcy cut her off, "Your mother and I expect you to be presentable."

"Father, I love the dressing up part." Constance shook her head, "It's the whole being at the party that I do not like. I cannot expect you to understand."

Darcy raised an eyebrow, "You must get used to it. It is different for men, I know." Darcy softened, "But, you cannot change who you are."

"I am quite certain I can," Constance smirked and gestured at her getup, "How am I not presentable now?"

"Constance," Darcy firmly stated.

All Constance's father had to do was say her name in a stern voice and she would cringe. "Yes, father," Constance muttered, "I will make myself presentable."

"Good," Darcy walked out of the room, "now go find your mother. She has been wanting to talk to you." He closed the door behind him.

Constance changed back into her dress; dumping the rest of her father's clothes in a pile on the floor of the closet. She walked out of the room; strolling through the corridors of Pemberley as though she was a tourist. She paused by a sculpture staring at it as though she had never seen it before. She walked on until she reached a French door that opened into a drawing room. Her mother sat in the room; reading by the fire. Constance cleared her throat and her mother looked up with a kind smile upon her features.

"Come here," her mother, Elizabeth, smiled with open arms.

Constance smiled as she gave her mother a hug. "Father was rather cross to find me trying his clothes on."

"I would rather have you dress like a man than wear the latest Paris fashion," Elizabeth cringed. "Have you seen their clothes? It's like they've never heard of comfort or modesty!"

"Why don't you tell father that?"

"Maybe I should," Elizabeth laughed. "But, then he'd stop buying us clothing from Paris and then where would we be."

"Mother," Constance whined, "why's he such an-"

"Ass?"

"Mother!" Constance laughed, "Well, why's he like that?"

"I think," Elizabeth paused, "he's been brought up differently."

"That doesn't excuse him from anything." Constance sighed, "He doesn't know how to have fun! He's so - so dull!"

Elizabeth smiled, "I used to think the same until I got to know him better."

Constance sighed, "The more I get to know of father … the more I want to run away and never come back!"

Elizabeth shook her head, "He is only trying to set an example for you."

"Oh," Constance groaned, "and you're on his side now?"

"I am not taking sides," Elizabeth bit her tongue to stop her from saying more.

"Mother, my only option is to run away and never come back."

"Stop being dramatic and get dressed for the ball."

Constance sighed, "I thought you would understand."

Elizabeth stood up, setting her book aside. "Understand what? What is so bad that your life is now over? You have a house over your head, food in your belly, two parents that love you, and all the riches you could possibly want. How is that not enough?" Elizabeth glared at her daughter, "Now, stop being a spoiled brat and get dressed for the ball."

Constance flushed with embarrassment and turned to leave the room. Her mother had never spoken to her like that before. Was she as spoiled as they thought she was? "Maybe if I leave," Constance thought tearfully in her bedroom, "it would benefit them."

Constance's maid entered the room and readied her for the ball. Her maid pulled the corset over her head; tying the stays so tight that Constance felt she could not breathe. The dress was beautiful and had been imported from France. It was silk with georgette sleeves so sheer that even her mother would blush. The sleeves looked like gossamer wings that just barely hid her creamy shoulders. Like all fashions, the waistline was under the bust and the skirt floated around her.

"Do you ever wish that you were a man?" Constance asked her maid as she sat in front of her vanity.

"Can't say that I have," her maid, Betsy, smiled kindly.

"Why?"

"There's so much beauty involved with being a woman." Betsy gathered all the hair pins and began to brush Constance's hair.

"Don't you want to be more than pretty?" Constance sighed, "I want to change the world but I cannot do that from behind my fan. I cannot do anything, but, sit pretty because that is what society wants. I feel that I have no purpose."

"Well, ma'am," Betsy shrugged, "no one is stopping you from doing the world some good but yourself. If you want to help, you have to go out and do it yourself."

Constance nodded, "I believe you are correct. There are several charities that I can involve myself in and still be a proper lady."

Betsy smiled, "There now, see, it's not so bad, ma'am. Now let me see you smile."

Constance beamed brightly into the mirror; fueled by the pep talk that she had had with Betsy and by the notion that she might not be so useless after all. Her maid pinned her hair in place; letting loose curls fall around the nape of her neck. Constance looked in the mirror with a small smile. She looked like a young lady of proper breeding.

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